


Band-Aids Don't Fix Bullet Holes

by Mintey



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Relationships, Injury, M/M, Major Character Injury, Medical Procedures, Mission Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-26
Updated: 2015-05-26
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:59:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4010260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mintey/pseuds/Mintey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite desperately trying to ignore the sickening roll of his stomach, Eggsy forces himself to watch as the surgeons remove the bullet from Harry's head, admiring their skill while thinking he'd never be able to do something like that himself. Until, one day, after a mission gone wrong, he has to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Band-Aids Don't Fix Bullet Holes

**Author's Note:**

> I know absolutely nothing about field medical practices, or about medical practices in general, so this is probably mostly improbable. So, don't try this at home kids. Go see a doctor.
> 
> Also, this piece has about the same "fuck" density as the movie itself, so be forewarned.

Contrary to Merlin's belief, Eggsy doesn't often think about the day Harry got shot. He understands where Merlin is coming from, because after the adrenaline wore off from saving the whole world from Valentine's evil plans, he had driven to the nearest open bar and drunk himself into a stupor. Eggsy can't remember much from that night - Roxy had to come and pick him up, he was so wasted - but he figures he must have been mumbling nonsense about Harry, because the next day, the first thing Merlin did was hand him some aspirin and say, "We have people you can talk to, Galahad." Eggsy's only response was to find the nearest bathroom and spend the next fifteen minutes emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet. He still isn't sure if it was the alcohol or the codename that made him sick.

But, all of that aside, no, it isn't Harry getting shot he thinks about. It's the memory of the twenty-four hours following the phone call that had come while Eggsy was still trying to pick himself up off the bathroom floor. It's the memory of the way Merlin had come in without knocking, something the man never does, looking white as a sheet. And then he had to go and say the two words Eggsy had equally been dreading and hoping for: "It's Harry."

A lifetime of living with Dean and weathering the cuts, bruises, and broken bones thrown his way has taught Eggsy to grow accustomed to the hectic yet somber atmosphere of hospitals. He's learned to tolerate the pristine linoleum floors, the overpowering whiteness of every paintable surface, and even the harsh chemical smell that causes him headaches after inhaling for too long. However, after following the nurse through the halls of the private hospital in New York that day, Eggsy never wants to step foot in a hospital again.

It had taken all of Eggsy's strength not to turn and run, especially after the nurse had led them into a small room with a window and said, "You can watch through here." The sight of Harry lying on the operating table surrounded by nurses and surgeons in blue robes is forever burned into Eggsy's mind. He vividly remembers the way his nails had dug into the flesh of his palm, growing more and more painful as the surgeons carefully removed the bullet fragment. By the time the doctors have moved to sewing the entrance wound, Eggsy remembers praying that he never has to go through a situation like this ever again.

 

* * *

 

"What I want to know," Eggsy calls into his comms, firing off another shot from around the trunk of the tree he's hidden behind, "Is what's so fucking important." Another gunshot, this time from Harry, positioned several meters to Eggsy's left. "About this fucking ledger." The slide of his gun locks back into place, out of ammo. Eggsy reaches into his pants pocket to find another magazine. "That they've got a goddamned army in the middle of the fucking Swiss Alps to protect it."

Eggsy slides the magazine into his gun and darts to another tree. He dives behind it, flinching when a bullet chips off a piece of bark mere inches behind his head. He hears Harry curse through the comms before shooting off two rounds in quick succession. A shout echoes from where the enemy line must be, and Eggsy pokes his head out long enough to catch a glimpse of two more men falling into the rapidly accumulating snow.

"Merlin," says Eggsy, "How many goons are still out there?"

A loud round of static comes through the earpiece, followed by a faint, broken reply. "Heat signature... southeast... five... safehouse."

"Didn't copy." Eggsy glances out around the tree to count the remaining men. He sees three. After two missed shots and a third on-target, there are only two. "Arthur, did you catch that?"

"Negative."

His earpiece is only giving off static now in steady bursts, which he figures must be Merlin trying to fix the broken connection. "Fuck," Eggsy says. He catches movement out of the corner of his eye, and raises his gun, thinking it must be the two unaccounted for goons. As the figure runs from one tree to the next, Eggsy can make it out to be Harry. Eggsy turns the aim of his gun back towards the remaining men and provides covering fire.

"Knew this mission was a bad idea," mumbles Eggsy, mostly to himself.

Harry catches it over the comms and replies, "Yes, and I'll allow you to say it again assuming we even make it out of this mess."

"What's crawled up your arse?"

"Galahad, please do shut up." Another round of gunshots from Harry's direction, followed by a burst of rapid fire from the enemy. Harry grunts through the earpiece. "All clear from the southeast."

He sounds pained as he says it, and Eggsy sits up slightly from his crouch to try and get a better view of Harry, who is leaned up against the tree, reloading. Eggsy is immediately glad he looked, because a goon is creeping up increasingly close to Harry. With a single shot, Eggsy takes him out. Harry's head snaps up at the sound, meeting Eggsy's eyes and then glancing to where the corpse is bleeding into the snow.

"Much obliged," Harry says. Eggsy watches him slump against the tree, lowering himself to sit on the ground. "Any visual on the final target?"

"Nega-" Eggsy catches movement behind a group of rocks and bushes. "Affirmative." He fires into the general area, hoping to draw out whatever is behind it. A gun appears, then a head, and Eggsy takes the shot, satisfied when the body slumps against the rocks and the gun drops into the snow. "Got him."

Eggsy gives a quick sweep of his surroundings, making it even quicker when his line of vision comes across Harry's hunched form. When he deems it safe, he stumbles through the snow over to Harry, who he can now see is clutching at his right shoulder. He drops to his knees next to Harry and pries Harry's hand away from his shoulder. Harry's coat is darkened with blood, the stain spreading larger and larger by the moment.

"Fuck, Harry," says Eggsy, not even caring that he forgot to use codenames. He grabs Harry's good arm by the wrist and guides it back to the wound, encouraging the older man to keep pressure on the bloodied area. "Thought these suits were supposed to be bulletproof."

"Went through the seam."

Eggsy groans. He wipes a hand over his face and glances up to the sky, which is growing darker and darker by the moment. "We got to get you medical attention." He hasn't heard from Merlin for a good thirty minutes, but Eggsy tries calling the technician's name through the comms nevertheless. There's no reply. "Merlin ain't answering."

"Safehouse," Harry bites out. 

"Right," says Eggsy. Standing up, Eggsy reaches down to help Harry to his feet. Harry stumbles a bit and supports himself with a hand on the tree. "I have no fucking clue where that is."

Despite his fatigued state, Harry rolls his eyes. He tries to raise the injured arm to point, but winces when the pain is too much, and moves instead to raise the hand currently applying pressure to his wound. Eggsy forces it back down and says, "No, you keep that there. Don't want you bleeding out on me."

Eggsy tears his eyes away from the way Harry's hand is trembling ever so slightly and looks to the direction Harry had been pointing. All that he can see is the ongoing expanse of trees and undergrowth, eventually fading away as falling snow overtakes it in a sheet of blurry white. Eggsy frowns and returns his attention to Harry. "How far?" he asks.

"Couple miles north," Harry says hoarsely. 

"Think you can make it?" 

Harry nods, and Eggsy moves to Harry's side, ready to help if Harry needs it. He waves Eggsy away, but Eggsy remains close, watching Harry closely. They begin to trudge through the snow, which had grown exponentially since the time of their gunfight. It's hardly been ten minutes when Harry starts staggering, weak from blood loss no doubt. Eggsy wraps an arm around Harry, letting the older agent lean on him. Harry meets his eyes and gives a small nod of thanks.

By the time a cabin appears in the distance, Eggsy can no longer feel most of his face, and his legs are stiff from walking through the cold snow. He breathes a sigh of relief and helps a nearly-unconscious Harry to the front door. There's a keypad at the front entrance and Eggsy enters his code, the four-digit PIN number given to him specifically to unlock safehouses and notify HQ of his position for extraction. The door unlocks with a subtle click, barely audible through the wind whipping snow around outside.

Eggsy stumbles through the front door and fumbles with the light switch, helping Harry into one of the wooden chairs in the living space. Harry's eyelids are drooping slightly, and his face is pale, with very little color in his cheeks despite the chilly temperature. Gently, Eggsy places a hand on Harry's good shoulder and shakes him awake. "Harry," he says.

"Mmm," replies Harry. 

Cursing under his breath, Eggsy begins to remove Harry's outermost layers in an attempt to get a better look at the wound. It's a struggle, especially with Harry's half-hearted efforts and the stiffness in the damaged shoulder. He manages to get Harry out of his winter coat and tactical suit, but gives up when he reaches the button-down underneath, opting instead to cut it away. Sparing a glance at the tactical suit, Eggsy sees that Harry was right, the bullet had gone through the seams. He immediately knows what his next work request will be upon returning to England.

Focusing his attention once again on Harry, Eggsy spreads Harry's fingers from around the wound. Harry isn't even applying much pressure anymore, just a light press of his palm across his skin, so Eggsy hurries his efforts. He sees the entry wound quite clearly, despite the blood smeared all over the surrounding pale skin, but can't determine an exit wound, meaning the bullet is still lodged somewhere in Harry's shoulder. Eggsy groans quietly to himself. 

He blocks all thoughts of that day from his mind and goes in search of a medical kit. It's conveniently placed next to the fireplace, which Eggsy mentally makes note to start up if Merlin doesn't arrive soon. Except, when Eggsy opens it, he finds it nearly empty. There's barely any supplies left - just a few band-aids, an assortment of tools, and gauze pads. Another work request to put in, then.

"Fuck," Eggsy groans, causing Harry to raise his head and shoot Eggsy a questioning glance. "Ain't nothing we need left in the fucking kit."

"What's supplies are left?" manages Harry. 

"Just some band-aids, gauze, and tools, but last time I checked, band-aids don't fix bullet holes." Eggsy runs a hand through his hair, and gathers what he thinks will be useful. He deposits them on the table next to Harry.

Harry gazes at the collection of items and says, "Go into the bedroom. See if there's a sewing kit."

Eggsy stares at him in disbelief. "No," he says, shaking his head, "No, bruv, you've got to be joking." Harry shoots him a look that says no, he most definitely is not joking. "I ain't gonna stitch you up like a fucking suit or something."

"Eggsy, _please_."

Eggsy swallows. He nods, fighting the increasingly queasy feeling in his gut, and goes in search of a sewing kit. When he finds it, he isn't sure whether he wants to celebrate or scream. He does neither. Instead, he goes in search of a flashlight as well.

"Sewing kit," says Eggsy, placing the flashlight, needle, and thread on the table next to the collection of items. "What else?"

Harry frowns, and asks, "There was no alcohol in the kit?"

"None."

"Check the kitchen."

Eggsy hurries into the kitchen, haphazardly throwing open cabinets until he finds the alcohol. He wants to argue that this kind of stuff is for drinking, not for sterilizing, but he can see the way Harry is growing weaker by the minute, so he grabs a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of vodka, as well as a glass. Returning to where Harry is seated, he asks, "Good?"

Harry looks at the bottles in Eggsy's hands and says, "One bottle of alcohol is more than enough."

"This?" Eggsy laughs bitterly and picks up the bottle of vodka. "Oh no, bruv. This is for me."

Eggsy places the bottles and the glass on the table, pouring some whiskey into the cup and dropping the needle and a pair of tweezers into the alcohol. While he waits, he unscrews the top from the vodka and takes a swig. He sets the bottle down roughly on the table and takes the tweezers out of the glass.

"Alright, let's do this," he says, mostly to himself.

Eggsy turns on the flashlight and places it in his mouth, angling it at Harry's shoulder to get a better view of the wound. Harry winces slightly when Eggsy sticks the tweezers in, completely devoid of any finesse, and roots around for the bullet. Eggsy bites down harder on the flashlight, hating the way he can feel Harry's flesh moving around through the tweezers. He breathes a sigh of relief when they come into contact with metal. It takes a bit more maneuvering to get the bullet in the tweezers' grasp, but Eggsy eventually manages it. He pulls the bullet out and drops it in the whiskey with a loud _plop_.

Bringing one of the gauze pads to the mouth of the whiskey bottle, Eggsy soaks it in the liquor and places it against Harry's shoulder, letting the alcohol cleanse the wound. He wipes away some of the blood as well, biting his lip as he discards of the now-bloodied gauze pad. He stares at the wound for a moment, and leans back in his chair, shaking his head vehemently.

"I can't, I can't," he says. "I fucking can't, Harry."

Harry, having remained silent through most of the ordeal, finally speaks up. "Do you want me to do it?"

Part of Eggsy's brain is screaming,  _yes, please, don't make me do this_ , but the larger part has him saying, "The fuck, Harry! Course I ain't letting you do that."

"Then fucking get on with it."

Eggsy bites the inside of his cheek so hard that he can taste the coppery flavor of blood in his mouth. He picks up the needle and attempts to thread it, a feat that takes several moments with how hard his hands are shaking. Eggsy stops several times, but with each pause, he sees Harry watching him with glazed eyes and is reminded of why exactly he has to do this.

With precise, calculated movements, he begins to sew the wound together, trying to remember the sewing skills he had learned only a few months before during his tailor training. Except, this time, instead of sewing suits, he's sewing human flesh, and  _oh fuck that was not the thing to think of, Eggsy, what the hell are you doing_. His stomach is turning by the time he finishes off the stitches. It's more for his own benefit than Harry's when he finishes off by applying a fresh gauze pad over the treated area.

Eggsy keeps his composure just long enough to help Harry into the bedroom and cover him with blankets. He barely makes it to the bathroom in time, rushing over to the toilet and kicking the door shut behind himself. The next few hours are spent bent over the porcelain, alternating between resting his head on his arm and leaning back against the nearby tub.

 

* * *

 

When Merlin arrives the next morning, Eggsy lost count of three things: the number of hours that have passed, the number of times he has thrown up, and the number of times he's checked on Harry. If Eggsy had to guess, he would say the highest count belongs to the third activity. 

Harry is still asleep, so Eggsy is the one to let Merlin into the cabin and explain the situation. He leads Merlin to the bedroom, and watches as the other man assesses Harry's wounds.

"Is he going to be okay?" Eggsy asks.

He's asked that question exactly three times in his life, and each time he had hoped not to ask it again.

Merlin gives Eggsy a sympathetic look. "He's going to be fine. Just a minor wound, hardly anything to worry about." He ushers Eggsy out of the room and closes the door behind them. "What about you, are you going to be alright, Eggsy?" Merlin asks, concern evident in his features.

"As long as Harry's fine, so am I."

**Author's Note:**

> Wasn't sure where to really end this fic, since I mostly just wanted to write about Eggsy having to patch Harry up. But anyways, hope you enjoyed today's departure from the usual fluffy au's in favor of some angst - let me know what you thought!
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [eggsyunwinhart](http://eggsyunwinhart.tumblr.com)!


End file.
